Tristan stood up, sheathed his sword, and extended a hand to help the Demon up. She gripped it and stood up with his assistance – towering a good three feet above his height, with a broader build that matched her frame. "Thanks for helping with the chains," Tristan said.

The Demon eyed him warily, "You are in the same armor as the Demonkin…but you are not."

Tristan reached a hand up and scratched the back of his head, "Yeah. Sorry about the deception. I'm in the Demon Realm in disguise. Enemies - I'm sure you understand."

She nodded curtly and took on a regal demeanor as she squared her shoulders and looked down at him, slightly angling her head down to meet his gaze. "You did help in a time of need…even if, I believe you said, you broke in to release a captured Demonkin." She dipped her head to her chin in a slight nod. "I am Lord Parslile, Demon Lord of House Parslile."

Tristan smiled ruefully, no point in hiding it, he thought. She already sees the real me. And I don't think I can have Felicity pull the stunt to veil who I am this time. Plus, this Demon Lord owes me. He cleared his throat, "Tristan Winterbloom, lord of the Fey Realm. I seek the downfall of Duberceix, and his assassin organization known as the Venomous Rose."

Lord Parslile's eyebrows shot up at that, "You…you are one of the bloodlines hunted by Duberceix?"

"Yes," Tristan replied, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I am the last Winterbloom Elf. The favor I would ask is that you agree to help me topple the Demon King."

The woman's mouth spread into a wide smile. "That…is quite the proposition. Tell you what, allow me to ensure my House is in order." She glanced down, then looked at Tristan with a suggestive look, who intentionally looked off to the left slightly. "And you have some manners. Let me get dressed. Please, accompany me upstairs." She turned and headed to the staircase, seemingly ignoring the piles of corpses around them.

Tristan followed and kept his eyes firmly on the top of her back and shoulders, watching for any movement that could denote a hostile action. While they ascended, they spoke. "What happened down there?" Tristan asked.

"The Parslile family specializes in essence-weaving. We are unique among the Demon Houses due to that," she said haughtily. "One of the oldest Houses. In the Realm." She glanced back at him with a seductive smile, "You speak excellent Demon's Tongue for an Elf."

Tristan chuckled, "If only you knew my past, you'd know why." He intentionally wanted to be a bit vague. Keep her guessing, he thought, and keep the upper hand because of it.

She nodded and turned back to the front, "Well, I was attempting a new type of summoning spell. You are an essence-weaver, are you familiar with the process of creating a new spell?"

"I am," Tristan replied.

"Summoning as a spell type can be dangerous. Ideally, a summoning spell draws on the idea, the concept of an entity. But, when developing a new spell, sometimes it can pull on the actual creature we are trying to create a manifestation of. That is what happened." She sighed, and he could hear some slight sorrow or even regret enter her voice. "I…was not adequately prepared for what happened when the spell misfired. I effectively invited that thing, and it appeared. I was able to defend and protect myself, and thanks to years of spells laced upon my body, I survived…" she trailed off.

Tristan spoke softly, "But those who responded to your cries for help-"

"Slaughtered," She replied quickly, tersely. "We do not speak of the dead in my House. They are corpses and nothing more." There was a hidden sorrow there, but she kept it well concealed.

"What about my ally? The Demonkin who was captured?"

The Demon Lord let out a slight, barking laugh. "I had no clue we had captured a Demonkin. That would be a question for my head gua-" she cut herself off and took in a deep breath before calmly replying, "I will not be able to unveil the reason for your ally being captured."

Tristan understood immediately that one of the bodies down below was that of the person responsible for the House's safety. He wanted to say he was sorry for her loss, but respected her traditions, and instead checked the ground on the next landing, finding the X carved into the floor. "I need to stop here," he stated.

She glanced back at him, revealing her torso that he quickly averted his gaze from, looking to his left. "Why?" she asked.

"A companion of mine," Tristan replied. He spun his crucible, feeling his quarter-full essence, and activated his Spoken Message: Half-Realm ear cuff. Despite being made of silver, it was on his skin while he had been venting essence during the fight with the Starsworn, and so it remained functional and unmarred. Swapping to the Standard Tongue, he spoke. "Felicity? I dealt with the hot thing. You can meet back up with me on the stairs." He swapped to Demon's Tongue and looked at Lord Parslile, "We are going up?"

She nodded, "Yes. Speaking to an ally?"

Tristan nodded and swapped back to Standard Tongue, "Up the stairs from where we had agreed to meet."

Felicity's voice echoed in his ear, "Okay! Good job not dying!"

"I just got stabbed once," Tristan replied.

She snickered, "You got pricked?" Then, her voice became serious. "Sorry. Are you well?"

"I survived and am healed," Tristan replied. "See you soon." He let the spell fade and swapped back to Demon's Tongue, "Okay. Up we go."

Felicity joined him a few moments later, landing on his head and making paw-claw biscuits. "I got a lot of fancy, expensive looking stuff." She looked the Demon she had flown over, "She's kind of pretty."

"I wouldn't know," Tristan replied in Standard Tongue. "I haven't been looking at anywhere except her face."

She patted his cheek with a paw-claw, "Good! Only eyes for me."

Lord Parslile glanced back at Tristan, "You are speaking to someone again?"

Tristan nodded and swapped to Demon's Tongue, "Yes. My companion. Over my artificed item." A small lie, he knew, but there was no need to reveal the hidden Felicity.

She nodded, "Well, they are welcome to join us."

The staircase had become less plain and unadorned the higher they ascended, until they had gone up easily three-hundred feet. There, the archways for each landing led to a sturdy, wooden door with brass hinges, and carpets tethered to the floors using brass rods lined the steps. Grooves and alcoves had been carved into the stone blocks as they ascended, and trinkets were placed here and there – primarily ornaments, also made of brass. Simple, tasteful artwork that was not expensive all things considered. Which, given the size of the huge fortress, made perfect sense to Tristan. Why would you put all of the fancy items for display in a random stairwell? You keep the most valuable pieces where those raised to appreciate it reside. The rest is just ornamentation; like a veneer of polish that shows wealth, but only to the untrained.

Lord Parslile clicked her tongue, glancing at some of the empty cubby holes on the walls. "Looks like someone with sticky fingers helped themselves. Your ally who was captured, perhaps?" she asked.

Tristan knew it was Felicity, and her little paw-claw biscuits on his head confirmed that rapidly. "No. My ally was here to offer a partnership to take down Duberceix."

"Ah."

They arrived on a landing where a small, green-skinned Imp stood. It quickly came to attention as the Demon Lord got up the final step, muttering, "These stairs…why did I have the summoning chamber so far down?"

The Imp barked back, "Good evening, ma'am! What can I do for you, ma'am!"

The Demon Lord glanced back at Tristan, "I have a guest with me. See them to the parlor. I will join you shortly. Prepare beverages."

The Imp bowed and opened the door, revealing the most splendid and gorgeously decorated building Tristan had ever seen before. Gold sculptures covered shelves along the walls. Silver-inlay reliefs of artwork were etched into and painstakingly poured into the walls, depicting fabulous scenes of plains and oceans. The ground was covered in a long, deep, purple rug that seemed endless as it stretched down the hallway and then turned with the bend in the hall.

Felicity whistled, "Wow…I didn't get this high. I just got a bunch of the stuff in the alcoves on the way up!"

Lord Parslile turned to face Tristan, "I will see you in the parlor shortly…thank you for providing me with elixirs that very well may have saved my life. I will hear out your proposal shortly…just know that my House's power is diminished due to this recent incident." She turned and walked down the hall before Tristan could get another word in edgewise.

The Imp cleared its throat, and spoke in a slightly high-pitched, scratchy voice. "Please follow me to the parlor!" It turned and scurried down the hallway, taking a sharp left down one of the passages.

Tristan followed the creature and after taking a few more turns – filled with more ostentatious displays of wealth – was led to a wooden door with a large goblet emblazoned on the front. The Imp opened the door and scurried in, with Tristan right behind. It was a well appointed room, with a large, empty fireplace, two couches facing one another, a low table in between them, and a small selection of instruments along the walls on either side. "Music? Drink?" it asked.

"I'm fine," Tristan said. "Music though…can you play Her Darkest Desire by Giorna Trumauntaunt?"

The Imp blinked a few times, then a large smile spread across its face. "Excellent choice. Instrument of choice?"

"I'd love to hear it on the cello," Tristan replied as he took as seat on the couch and unbelted his sword, resting it next to him.

The Imp unfurled short wings from its back, flew over to the cello in a brief burst, and then took up the instrument. After testing the strings with plucks and making some adjustments, the creature began to play. A haunting melody that Tristan knew well – written by a famous Demonkin composer who studied in the Demon Realm before bringing his learning to Bhant and enriching court culture with his sorrowful dirges. Immediately, Tristan was brought back to a memory that stood out to him when he heard the song while sitting on his mother's lap, as a young child. It was her favorite song. And, one of Giorna Trumauntaunt's only non-dirge compositions.

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A few minutes passed, Felicity making her paw-claw biscuits constantly, but deeper into his skull which told him she was nervous. He let out a quiet, "Shush. We have our amulets," in the Standard Tongue. Then, he stood up and swapped back to Demon's Tongue as the Lord Parslile stepped through the open door.

She was dressed regally, with a deep, cream colored dress, a purple cloak, a small tiara gracing her brow, and a pair of slippers appropriate to a noble's at-home attire. "Ah, an excellent choice," she said as she made her way to the other couch and sat. Tristan sat right after she did. She snapped her fingers, and another Imp seemingly materialized from the ceiling, where Tristan could now see several outlines of the creatures nestled in small grooves along the wall that he had initially taken as fancy cornices. "Drinks, please," she said, and the thing scurried off. She adjusted her dress and smoothed out the folds on the front. "Now…proper introductions, shall we?"

Tristan dipped his head in a slight bow, "I am Tristan Winterbloom, lord of the Fey Realm, and last of my bloodline. I have been traveling in the Demon Realm under the guise of Marius Lestrange. And, I seek allies."

She smiled and crossed her legs, leaning back into the couch ever-so-slightly, breaking normal decorum that was only done in the presence of a ruler of equal stature. Tristan leaned back to match her more relaxed posture, ensuring to follow decorum perfectly. She almost purred slightly and said, "You have good manners, Lord Winterbloom. I am Clova Parslile. Demon Lord of the House of the same name. You may call me Lord Parslile."

Tristan smiled, "Lord Parslile…I seek the downfall of Duberceix. I have already allied one Demon House to my cause, and will be working on the rest once our conversation concludes. I plan to coordinate those Demon Houses who elect to go along with my plot a staged uprising – or perhaps it could be real, if you were so inclined to try and seize power of Realm Protector for yourself."

As he said that last sentence, he watched her like a hawk, for any sign that would denote her interest or lack thereof. He saw the slight widening of her eyes, the very faint tug on the edges of her lips, and knew from his years of being at court and watching encounters between nobility that his assumption was correct – she was a power hungry person who wanted the throne for herself. "Do go on," she said as the Imp brought back a platter holding two cups and a bottle. The Imp set the tray on the table, poured the glasses, and then handed the glass to Lord Parslile. He turned to hand one to Tristan, but Tristan made a slight cutting motion with his hand, and the Imp left the cup on the table and scooted off to the side of the chamber.

Tristan leaned forward and tented his hands as Lord Parslile watched him intently, taking a sip from her cup. Tristan spoke firmly, and with confidence. "Once the Demon Houses I have convinced to join are ready, we will stage the uprising and revolts. That will force Duberceix to send forces out of Saumur. Then, I will infiltrate the capital with a force from my Realm. We will root out the Venomous Rose, destroy them utterly root and stem, and kill Duberceix."

Lord Parslile swallowed her sip and smiled devilishly, "And once he dies, the vote for a new Realm Protector happens. You get to play kingmaker."

Tristan shrugged, "I honestly do not care too much who sits on the throne of the Demon Realm," he replied, acting nonchalant to feign disinterest. "Whoever it is? I hope they are open to trade and perhaps even partial Grafting with the Fey Realm. The focus of this endeavor is threefold." He raised his right index finger, "One, I want vengeance. My bloodline, dozens if not hundreds of prominent bloodlines, have been slain to the last. Justice must be meted out, and I'm in the best position to do that." He raised his middle finger, "Two, the Demon Realm cannot be stable if the current sitting Demon King plans on usurping The Mortal Realm. All it takes is one of the gods of that domain being notified of the plot, shown proof, and we could have all out war. That helps no one." He raised his ring finger, "Third, I want all future attempts on my life to be eliminated. These assassins are supported by Duberceix. If they are killed, and their source of support dies, then the attacks on my life will cease."

"And now I understand more of why you infiltrated the Realm under a false identity." Lord Parslile let out a slight chuckle as she drained her cup and tossed it to the Imp, who quickly caught it and scurried to re-fill it. "I must say, you are an interesting person with a fascinating plan. I am an ally of Duberceix." Tristan tensed as she said that, but kept it in check and didn't reach for his weapon. "However," she continued, her voice filled with slight disappointment, "He has been stupid in his plans. I never condoned these assassins, mind you, just the usurping of bloodlines of prominence and infiltration to create successors loyal to the Demon Realm." She accepted the filled glass from the Imp, and swirled the liquid slightly before taking a sip. "An eventual, partial take-over. Not a full out invasion through this elimination of bloodlines, mind you. And most certainly not the annihilation of entire bloodlines." She frowned and stared into Tristan's eyes, her voice filling with sincere sorrow, "My condolences. Any bloodline being eradicated is a major loss in essence-weaving potential – and the Parslile House is first and foremost, composed of essence-weavers."

Tristan leaned back slightly to a neutral position, "Your condolences are appreciated. I will admit, as honesty is the best when it comes to negotiations like this, hearing you say that does not fill me with much confidence. If you were to take the throne of Realm Protector, would you continue to follow that plan? An eventual, insidious takeover over millennia?"

"Most probably," she replied. "I have over ten-thousand years of experience ruling. Those…lesser longevity Heritages are not alive long enough to effectuate real change and advancement." She snapped her fingers as the song in the background ended, "Replay!" the music picked up again, and she continued speaking as normal. "I would seek to just have a stable hand at the helm is all."

I could play both sides of this, Tristan thought. Or I could just stay out of it. What should I care about when it comes to the Mortal Realm and who runs cities, towns, or kingdoms? I have the Fey Realm. But, as that thought entered his mind, he immediately knew that there was something morally wrong about allowing for such a hostile takeover. It roiled in his stomach, almost protesting against him, as the lessons instilled by his mother and grandfather reviled such a stance. No…this essence-weaver would continue her plot. She would be a threat. Even if I got her to sign the pact. I could…I could use her, though. I wouldn't have to lie, either – I would just use whatever influence I have when its all said and done to try and put a different Demon Lord on the throne of the Realm in whatever election vote they have.

Another, more sinister thought crossed his mind. I could kill her. Right now. I'm fast, have a weapon right next to me, she doesn't seem defended, and I don't see any artificed items except maybe the dress or tiara. He kept his gaze on her, and knew the prolonged silence needed to be broken on his end for decorum purposes. "I understand where you are coming from," Tristan began, "But perhaps, before continuing your plan…you should hear of some happenings in The Mortal Realm."

"Oh? Do tell."

"There is an empire. The Empire of Dorcelli. Ruled by Naomi celli. They are expanding to other regions and instilling control over the whole Mortal Realm, bit by bit." He gauged the Demon Lord's reaction, and saw to his delight that a look of surprised flickered across her visage. So, she didn't know about that. Tristan continued, "She is a mixture of several bloodlines, all painstakingly curated to create someone who could unite her homeland under one banner. And their expansion has been rapid. The continent to their south is already beginning to fall under their control, and they are making progress in advancing into other regions." He pursed his lips for a moment, letting the statement sink in, before continuing. "Now…I do not think such an environment is conducive to your machinations. When, instead, you could have a Demon of renown, perhaps under your House's control, marry her."

He watched the Demon Lord for any reaction, any hint, and thankfully saw what he was looking for. Curiosity, and eagerness. She spoke rapidly, her excitement overcoming her trained decorum as he had just laid out an alternate plan to controlling a whole entire Realm through a single, important marriage. "You speak wisely…I could offer an alliance. Support from the most powerful essence-weavers of the Demon Realm, in exchange for marrying one of my sons to her. Then…" she grinned, "They could take over The Mortal Realm, and bring it into a golden age of prosperity with my House at the helm."

Tristan knew he had her. This will take away any incentive for her to continue Duberceix's machinations, he thought. And, I can play the other side of this. After I'm done here in the Demon Realm, I can go to The Mortal Realm and talk to the empress myself. I can warn her to take precaution with a Demon suitor. Marry him, take him as consort, but not reproduce with him. Keeping The Mortal Realm in Human hands, while also eliminating a possible threat from the next Demon Realm ruler. "So…with this new information…will you help me fell Duberceix and end his reign?"

She stood up and bowed at the waist – a highly respectful gesture for a ruler of equal stature. Standing up straight, she smiled and straightened out her dress. "I believe we can come to an accord."

Tristan stood up and spun his crucible, channeling it into the Pocket Dimension II spell, and pulled one of the pacts out. "I have prepared contracts." He held it out to her, and she accepted it, cracking the seal and reading rapidly. "The terms are fair," he added as she set it down.

She glanced at the Imp near the door, "Ink and a pen." The Imp bowed, and scurried out. She turned to face Tristan and grinned, breaking social decorum. "I am so pleased you broke into my fortress and saved me. Not only did you save my life, but you have also given me a wonderful opportunity to…remove an old ally. The information on The Mortal Realm and your suggestion about tying my family directly to, and helping the ruler of this impending world-spanning Empire? That was just the push I needed to go along with it." She tapped the parchment with the back of her fingers – something Tristan noted that the other Demon Lord had also done. "The terms are fair, and I will coordinate a real uprising from my end. It won't be a ploy, I promise you that." Her eyes glinted with a greed that Tristan could sympathize with, as he had felt the same when seeing a dragon to slay and devour.

Tristan smiled and glanced at the Imp as it entered the room and set out the ink and pen. The Demon Lord sat, penned her signature, and held one end of the parchment to Tristan. He grabbed the other side and spun his crucible. Her deep, crimson essence mingled with his silver and consumed the scroll before it disintegrated. "Pleasure to work with you," he said. Reaching back, he grabbed his sword and belted it on. "I will have emissaries from the Fey Realm come and deliver an artificed communication item so we can coordinate more readily. Expect their entourage in about two weeks, I would imagine, given travel time necessary."

"Would you like to stay the night?" Lady Parslile offered.

Tristan shook his head gently, and bowed deeply at the waist before standing erect once more. "You have already shown me much grace. I would actually like to return to the cells that I infiltrated from – I can repair the hole that we bored through the mountain face to break in. The least I can do is fix what we damaged."

Tristan saw the Demon Lord's stance relax ever-so-slightly, and her shoulder pivoted minutely toward him. It was the closest thing that a noble would come to when it came to swooning in proper company. "Lord Winterbloom, you are very gracious. Thank you for that. I presume you have some means to return?"

Tristan nodded and patted his now-exposed belt full of socketed amulets, "Several artificed spells. If you like, my group of emissaries can bring some trade goods with them."

"I would be delighted to see the treasures and largesse of the Fey Realm," she replied with a smile. "Thank you. Do not forget your ally."

Tristan nodded, "Then I will take my leave."

"Let one of my Imps guide you downstairs."

Tristan filled in Felicity on the walk down the stairs, speaking in Elvish. After they reached the hole in the wall, Tristan clambered inside, and Felicity mumbled her spells as she re-transmuted the rocks surrounding them, causing them to seemingly grow to occupy the void.

She spoke in Standard Tongue once they stopped for a breather to let her essence refill. "You had a good plan," she said with a grin of triumph. "Your Elvish side and deceitful nature is coming to the forefront."

Tristan shrugged, "I didn't really lie about anything. I just didn't tell her what else I will do in The Mortal Realm. I think it was a well-executed conversational diplomatic maneuver."

Felicity yawned, "Yeah, yeah. It was very smart sounding, all that blah blah in Demon's Tongue. I wish I spoke it!"

Tristan chuckled, "We will be back at the Citadel. We can pop over to the Fey Realm and then back to get a mage to put a translation spell onto some item. The only reason I don't have one is because, as Eloise warned, we might come into an issue where the translation spell does not function properly, putting us in jeopardy."

"Back to disguising yourself, then?" she asked.

"Mhmm. Now, let's finish this up and get back to the Citadel."

"You got it!" Felicity said as she turned and began re-using her transmutation spell to fix the mountain.

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